


Accidental Intimacy

by coconuttyy



Category: Fire Emblem: Fuukasetsugetsu | Fire Emblem: Three Houses
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-12-24
Updated: 2019-12-24
Packaged: 2021-02-26 19:40:16
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,121
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21943993
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/coconuttyy/pseuds/coconuttyy
Summary: “Forget Dorothea,” Sylvain said, standing up as well. When Felix turned around, confused, he took his opportunity. In a swift, practiced motion, Sylvain pulled Felix around by his waist and took his other hand. “I’ll teach you all you need to know.”
Relationships: Felix Hugo Fraldarius/Sylvain Jose Gautier
Comments: 6
Kudos: 121





	Accidental Intimacy

**Author's Note:**

> Hi all! What a way to jump back into fanfiction, amirite? This isn't my first rodeo but I've been craving a fresh start, and a joining new fandom seems like a good opportunity to do so. This isn't even my favorite FE:3H pairing, just an idea that I couldn't let go of. Hope you enjoy! :)

“It’s absolutely ridiculous,” Felix snapped. His tone was sharp, but not enough to cut through Sylvain’s wandering thoughts.

“Totally,” he replied, flipping a page idly. Sylvain was thinking about the cute blonde girl from the market that had agreed to get coffee with him tomorrow. Or was it the day after?

“I mean, it’s not surprising coming from her, but still,” Felix continued. The reference to a woman piqued Sylvain’s interest, almost enough to pull him out of the daydream. “I can’t believe she’s focused on a _ball_ at a time like this.”

“Wait, what?” All at once, Sylvain’s thoughts raced to catch up, but not before Felix noticed.

“Were you even listening?” Felix practically spit the question onto the ground, even though he surely knew the answer. He huffed, as he often did when he was offended but didn’t know how to express it. Sylvain smiled, in spite of his efforts to look remorseful.

“Never mind,” Felix concluded, standing up to leave their table in the library.

But Felix had Sylvain’s full attention now, whether he liked it or not. “Hey hey hey, not so fast,” he said, standing up as well and laying a hand on Felix’s upper arm to stop him. Felix tilted his head to the side slightly, perhaps calculating if it was worth punching Sylvain in the quiet library and facing the punishment. He seemed to decide against it. “What’s this about a ball?”

Felix’s eyes flicked to Sylvain’s hand, still on his arm. Sylvain pulled it back and gestured to Felix’s seat across from him. He tilted his head back the other way, calculating again, then sat back down. “If you hadn’t skipped class yesterday, you would have heard the professor’s announcement,” he said, his face still sour, “They’re holding a ball for the monastery’s anniversary at the end of the month.” Sylvain couldn’t imagine anyone saying it with less enthusiasm, but it still made him smile.

“That’s perfect! We all need a chance to blow off some steam, especially you,” Sylvain said with a wink. He knew exactly what kind of reaction it was going to get, but that never stopped him.

“You’re just as ridiculous as Dorothea!” Felix shot back, as if he had been anticipating what Sylvain would say. “That’s what I was saying—she offered to give me _lessons_ , to _practice_ dancing for the ball, as if I would take part in that waste of time.”

Sylvain rolled his eyes. Felix was possibly the only guy he knew that wouldn’t fall over himself to get that kind of attention from Dorothea, let alone reject her as rudely as he surely had. “Heh, maybe I’ll take your place, then,” Sylvain chuckled. “But you know you can’t bail, right?”

“Why not?” He replied, suspicious, and rightly so. Ever since they were kids, Sylvain knew how to play Felix like a fiddle.

“A fearsome warrior, master swordsman,” Sylvain gestured to Felix, and his face flushed at the compliments, “Shrinking away from a mere ball? It’s not a good look.”

Felix seemed to be weighing the argument in his head, narrowing his eyes. He had always made it clear how little he cared of what people thought of him, but he had an undeniable competitive streak.

“And dancing isn’t all that different than fighting, right? It’s all about the rhythm, anticipating the movements of your partner…” Sylvain trailed, off, gauging Felix’s reaction. His gaze had shifted up and to the right, as if imagining it.

“You _do_ know how to dance, right?” Sylvain asked. All the while, he racked his brain for a memory of Felix dancing. He recalled the two of them (sometimes three, with Ingrid) hiding under the tables of fancy gatherings as small children and Felix sneaking out as they grew older, but Sylvain couldn’t recall seeing him dance.

The color that had risen in his face upon being complimented only deepened. “I—It’s—not the kind of skill I’ve spent time building. Is that a problem?” Felix huffed again, and Sylvain’s heart skipped a beat. He turned away, then stood up to leave again, “Like I said, a waste of time.”

“Forget Dorothea,” Sylvain said, standing up as well. When Felix turned around, confused, he took his opportunity. In a swift, practiced motion, Sylvain pulled Felix around by his waist and took his other hand. “I’ll teach you all you need to know.”

To Sylvain’s intense surprise, Felix didn’t immediately break away and attempt to strangle him. He stared at his own hand on Sylvain’s shoulder, as if he hadn’t realized that he had put it there. Sylvain barely contained the urge to smirk, knowing that simple expression might ruin this unexpectedly pleasant moment. He took a step forward, as if beginning the waltz, and Felix followed.

“See?” Sylvain said, maybe a little too softly, “You’re a natural.”

“Or I just know you,” Felix narrowed his eyes, breaking the gaze between them. His eyes searched the library, perhaps searching for witnesses to his moment of weakness, but found none.

Sylvain continued the steps, counting quietly, “One—two—three, one—two—three. See? It’s just like a drill.” He felt Felix relax underneath him, and in response he pulled him closer. He was surprised to feel Felix’s heart pounding through his shirt, pressed up against Sylvain’s chest. Ah, probably holding back the urge to strangle him at this very moment.

Sylvain squeezed Felix’s hand, attempting to communicate he was about to change positions, but the message did not seem to come through. One of Felix’s feet got caught on Sylvain’s—a rare misstep—and Sylvain caught him with his left arm, his hand already resting on his waist.

He laughed, and Felix looked away, shrinking, before Sylvain added, “My fault. Like this—” He gently picked up Felix’s hand and placed it on his own waist, before resting his hand on Felix’s shoulder. Sylvain stepped backwards, pulling Felix with him as he began the steps again. “With moves like yours, the ladies will be lining up, and you’ll need to know how to lead,” he explained.

“That’s it,” Felix snapped, halting the dance without warning. “That’s still all you’re thinking about. I should have known better. This is stupid.” He broke away so suddenly that Sylvain barely had time to react.

“Wait—no—I—” Sylvain sputtered. He was filled with momentary relief as Felix paused while shoving his books back into his bag. He had a small chance, he just couldn’t blow it. “I understand if you don’t want to go to the ball. I really do. But if you change your mind…I’ll save you a dance. I promise,” he added, with no wink or sarcasm or qualifier.

Felix sighed. “Fine,” he said flatly, but he turned and left the library anyway.

Sylvain let out a breath he didn’t realize he was holding, surprised to find that his own heart racing as well.

-

Felix didn’t mention their encounter in the library in the days leading up to the ball, but that didn’t surprise Sylvain in the slightest.

Personally, he had been distracted attempting to court Hilda, who seemed just disinterested enough to make it a delightful challenge. The winks, innuendos, and slight touches were enough to get him through most days. But sometimes, in the middle of the night, Sylvain became abruptly aware of the game they were both playing, as if its machinations were suddenly laid bare. It was no different than a contest, a tit-for-tat in which neither was interested in the prospect of vulnerability, only strength. Sometimes, Sylvain would recall the color rising in Felix’s face and wonder what he had done wrong, and if he would come to the ball after all.

A week before the ball, Hilda relented exactly as much as she needed to, and agreed to go with Sylvain. Claude had even congratulated him, saying, “You certainly—uh—put in the work.” It was a victory, and Sylvain would be proud to have one of the prettiest girls at Gerreg Mach on his arm at the ball, but it felt empty. It didn’t touch him deeply, in that way that made him feel like he had value beyond his Crest. It was just motions—ones both he and Hilda were quite skilled at, nonetheless. Sometimes, when the emptiness creeped into his chest, Sylvain would practice the waltz again, alone.

“Are you ready to blow off some steam tomorrow?” Sylvain asked Felix, setting his books down on the dining hall table to announce his arrival.

Felix paused, taking another glance down at the half-finished entry in his training log before raising his eyebrows and repeating, “Tomorrow?”

“The ball?” Sylvain laughed, elbowing him in the ribs. “You can’t take a raincheck on that dance, you know, it’s one time offer.”

“Ugh,” Felix made a noise, turning back to his training log. “Is that all you came here to talk about?”

It was, but Sylvain didn’t want him to know that. “What, do you think I can only think about dancing and beautiful women?”

Felix rolled his eyes. “Yes,” he said, not looking up.

“Well, as usual, you’re wrong about me. I…was wondering if you wanted to train with after dinner. The professor showed me some sword breaker techniques and well—there’s no one’s sword I’d rather break,” Sylvain said with a wink.

Felix looked up, his brow furrowed. “This isn’t your plan to trick me into dancing, is it?” He paused as if he was going to say ‘dancing _again_ ’ near their peers in the dining hall, but caught himself.

“Absolutely not!” Sylvain raised his hands in faux surrender, “Like I said, it was a one time offer.”

“And after that, you’ll shut up about it?” Felix groaned.

Sylvain did his best to suppress a smile. He said, “I promise.”

-

Sylvain felt more like himself the night of the ball. He carefully selected a bouquet of flowers to match the color scheme of Hilda’s dress, hesitating on what to write in the card but eventually settling on a simple, “Thank you for gracing me with your beauty this evening.”

“Oh, I love them,” she exclaimed as he offered them to her at her bedroom door, taking a deep breath to take in the scent. “What a very gentlemanly thing to do,” she added coyly.

“Did you expect anything less from a perfect gentleman like myself?” He responded, winking reflexively.

“I suppose you’re right,” Hilda giggled. “Well, since you’re such a gentleman, you won’t mind waiting in here while I finish getting ready.”

“I would never turn down an invitation into a beautiful girl’s bedroom,” Sylvain replied, but he was watching her face intently. Her flirty smile fell slightly as she glanced at the courtyard behind him, her eyes searching for something, or someone. Her eyes turned back to him, and Sylvain saw her realize that he had noticed.

Hilda blinked at him for a long moment, in which she seemed to be forcing the smile back onto her face. “Sylvain, I—” She began, but hesitated. “I like you,” she said, finally, with just a bit of resignation. To his credit, Sylvain heard everything that went unsaid loud and clear.

He smiled, maybe the first genuine smile he had offered her in a long time. “I know. If you want to talk about him, I—”

“ _Her,_ ” she interrupted, taking some pleasure in correcting him, “And definitely, absolutely not. The last person I want to talk to about feelings is Sylvain Jose Gautier.”

He let out a long sigh, letting the smile fall from his own face. It felt good. “Are you sure?”

Hilda opened her mouth slightly as she searched his expression. “I—um—well…not tonight at least. I just want to have fun and forget about everything else, you know?”

“I know,” Sylvain said.

“So c’mon, let’s have fun,” she half-giggled, half-demanded, “But first, come in and help me with my hair.”

Twenty minutes of curls later, Sylvain and Hilda arrived at the ball fashionably late. Did she ever stop scheming? Still, their time in her room had been fun—honestly, more fun than Sylvain had had in a girl’s bedroom in a while. Hilda had been shocked to find that he had no idea how women curled their hair, and gave him crash course so effective that he had been able to do a couple pesky pieces she couldn’t reach in the back.

A thought buzzed in the back of Sylvain’s mind, like a bug he kept swatting away. The things he planned for, that he practiced for were never as satisfying as the moments of intimacy he stumbled into by accident. And where did that leave him now? Alone on the dance floor as Hilda rushed off to discuss her dress with Dorothea.

“Wine,” he said to himself under his breath, making his way over to the table full of glasses. He scanned the crowd for no one in particular, ignoring a gnawing feeling in his chest. He had downed half a glass in one large swallow when he heard a familiar voice.

“Have I mentioned you look great from behind?”

It took him a moment to place its owner, but Sylvain was relieved to turn and be faced with Celia, the blonde girl from the market. “Not in so many words, but something to that effect,” he replied, smirking. Familiar motions brought him some comfort in the same way the wine did. “I didn’t expect to see you alone here—is that something I can help with?”

“For the moment,” she said. A piece of light hair fell from a loose braid across her crown, just brushing the thin strap of her dark green dress.

“Sounds perfect,” he said, offering her his hand and leading her to the dance floor.

A few dances and a few glasses of wine dulled the gnawing feeling only slightly. He smiled softly at a brown-haired, blue-eyed girl whose name escaped him when a lucid thought pierced the haze— _he’s not coming. Just forget it, he’s not coming._

Sylvain squeezed his eyes shut, trying to force the thought out of his mind.

“Are you okay?” The girl asked. Maya? Maria? He couldn’t recall.

“Oh yeah, I’m great, I just—” At a loss for a solution, he swooped in and kissed her on the cheek, and she giggled. There, now he could just think about her and not—

“Excuse me,” the words came from his right, the flat affect unmistakable. Sylvain’s heart soared.

Felix stood beside them, a lone still figure in the middle of a crowd of dancers, but seemingly unbothered. Sylvain had never seen him in his evening suit before. Although his own was nearly identical, on Felix it was as though he was seeing it for the first time.

Sylvain had paused long enough that his dance partner was looking up at him quizzically, but he was still processing.

“You owe me,” Felix continued. It was quite an ominous way to invite someone to dance, but the sentiment was the same deep down.

The girl he had been dancing with looked between the two of them, conscious that she hadn’t been addressed at all in this conversation. Mercifully, the song ended a moment later, and Sylvain kissed her hand in what was clearly a parting gift.

The brief pause in between songs was realistically only a few seconds, but it felt like an eternity as Sylvain and Felix stared at one another, sizing each other up, not unlike when they were about to spar. They came together a moment after the band began to play, and Sylvain was surprised to feel Felix’s hand on his shoulder. “You lead,” Felix said quietly, like he might be saying it through gritted teeth.

“I—I didn’t think you would come,” Sylvain said with more relief than he intended.

“I don’t back down, even from a challenge as stupid as yours,” he replied with a smirk.

“Aw, Felix, that hurts,” he whined, offering a fake pout.

“Ugh,” Felix shook his head. Their banter continued as if Sylvain wasn’t holding his waist, slowly moving around the ballroom to the rhythm of the strings. “That face won’t work on me, you know.”

Sylvain smirked. “What will, then? Surely even someone like you has some weakness,” he said, then remembered, “Ah, I know just the thing.” Felix’s eyes widened as Sylvain pulled him in close, until there was no space between them. Just like before, he felt Felix’s heart pounding—or maybe it was his own.

Felix missed half a step in the moment Sylvain moved him, and they collided again. Felix let out a small chuckle in spite of himself as they recovered and found their pace once more. In that exact instant, something somewhere deep in Sylvain’s mind fell into place, and he let out a sigh of relief. He tugged a loose lock of navy hair and freed it from Felix’s ponytail, pulling it delicately through his fingers as he surrendered to the fire rushing through his veins.

Sylvain blinked and met Felix’s eyes again, expecting an expression of murder via strangulation again. Instead, Felix let out a sigh of relief to match, the color on his face climbing up to his ears. His hand shaking, Sylvain let go of the lock of hair and moved his hand only slightly, brushing his fingers against Felix’s cheek. He otherwise might have noted that his skin was surprisingly soft, but it felt as though an explosion was rushing through his body, radiating from the point of contact. Even the air between their faces seemed electrified, and Sylvain was more terrified to touch Felix now than when he had had a sword at his throat.

“Felix—you—I—” he sputtered, barely able to form words.

“Please, Sylvain, shut the fuck up,” Felix replied, but with a smirk instead of his usual snarl.

Their noses brushed together experimentally, cautiously, and Sylvain could barely hear the band over the pumping of blood in his ears. That is, until song finished. It was as if a spell was broken, and when Felix let go of his hand, Sylvain felt a distinct absence of heat he had never noticed before.

A thousand questions raced through his mind. What had happened? What had _almost_ happened? Who had noticed? What did this mean? What—

Felix cleared his throat as the band began to play the next song. “Your footwork was sloppy,” he said, not quite able to hide the entirety of his smile. “You could benefit from another round,” he added, a phrase Sylvain was familiar with.

He smiled fully, taking Felix by the waist again, pausing for just a moment to brush his cheek, “Another round, then.”


End file.
